This extract is from a novel called 'Sweet Dreams' and is a classic Richard Manton plot of a rich adventurer who, doing a favour for a friend who must travel abroad, reluctantly leaves his home in Paris to live in an English country home as mentor and guardian of two beautiful and headstrong teenage sisters, Sharon, the elder, and Victoria. Needless to say both these young ladies are in need of strict discipline and our hero and narrator, oh so sadly of course, feels the need to attend to their bare bottoms. The first to suffer, after disobeying an instruction, is the 18 year old Sharon who has just returned from horse riding to find her guardian waiting for her. Read on:
Presently I was alone with Sharon. She stood before me in her singlet and jeans, the veil of brown hair freshly combed and settled on her shoulders, the careless fringe of it on her forehead and the sweep of it framing the firm pale oval of her face. She stood there with arms folded, her expression suggesting that, though she would not resist me, she would do nothing to assist in her own punishment. A girl of eighteen has at least that much pride.
I turned to the cupboard, taking out the slim black riding crop. She stared at it, still unable to comprehend the degree of torment the crop may inflict upon her. At the centre of the room was a heavy oblong table of dark wood.
"Go over and stand facing the table, Sharon," I said quietly.
She turned and walked slowly across, still with her arms folded as if to show her indifference. I promised myself that she would show little indifference or self-possession in half an hour's time!
"Lie forward over the table, Sharon. Bend forward over it."
She did as she was told, still without a word, lying forward along it.
"Give me your hands."
She reached them out in front of her, above her head as she lay still. I slipped a strap around her wrists and drew it tight. Then I ran a length of stout cord around the strap, drew her arms out at full stretch and tied the cord firmly to the nearest table legs. Sharon turned her face aside and shook her dark brown hair into place, her cheek resting on the table.
I pulled the singlet hem free of the waist of her jeans. Now that I had Sharon bending fully over, the rear view of her riding jeans was of two quite plumpy swelling young bottom cheeks with the outline of her panties clearly ridged. I undid the clasp at her waist and eased the denim down, making her step out of her jeans when they had fallen to her ankles. She now lay there displaying briefs of white elasticated cotton.
"Now your knickers, Sharon," I said "You must be properly undressed for this."
I pulled her knickers down and admired the view. Sharon's bottom gained its seductive fullness from the slight pale sheen of adolescent puppy fat. I ran my hand gently over it and gave her a light cheek smack, causing Sharon's soft pale arse flesh to jump and quiver.
"Never had the crop before, Sharon?"
She bit her lip and said nothing.
"Answer when you're spoken to!"
There was a pause and then the answer came almost as a gasp.
"No!"
I gave her bottom another light smack.
"You shall have your first taste of the stable crop then."
Though her face was hidden, her body now betrayed Sharon's panic. Her knees were pressed together and she was trying to compress her rear cleavage. I stood over her, put one arm around her waist, and closely inspected her young backside and the rear opening of her thighs.
"Relax your bottom, Sharon. I must have a good look at you first."
And so I did, admiring the rear aspect of her young sex at the junction of her trembling thighs. She tried to tighten again presently, when I pressed her cheeks hard apart and considered the little vortex before me. I straightened up, gave her another light slap on the bottom and walked across to the desk where the slim black crop was lying. I picked up the crop and a leather belt. The latter went tightly around Sharon's waist, for I intended her to remain very firmly lying over the table.
I cut the air with a crop and the sound of it made her jump with fright, Sharon's bare buttocks tightening instinctively.
I spent a little while taking my aim, touching the cold leather of the crop one way and another across Sharon's bare and flinching rear cheeks. My resolve had begun to harden and I very much determined to make this a long and fruitful session. I raised the long slim crop and brought it down hard with a flick of the wrist, catching Sharon's squirming young backside expertly aslant its cheeks. The room rang with the smack of leather on the soft flesh of Sharon's bottom. Sharon gasped and then her gasp rose to a cry as if the anguish increased for a moment after the impact. The silky twist of her brown hair slithered clear as she tried to twist her face round to implore me. The whip cracked keenly, making her young bottom cheeks quiver again and again.
Sharon bent one knee up quickly and desperately, as if that might ease the lingering smart of the whip, something I was later to see Victoria do. I caught her again with a cut that touched the searing red of the first stripe and Sharon yelled wildly. Her silky hair was spilling in confusion and, when I walked around to the front, I saw her brown eyes filled with tears of dismay. Sharon had never dreamt that she could be hurt like this in response to her conduct. Her legs were squirming and wriggling. The whip smacked low across her bottom cheeks and Sharon uttered a wild and wordless soprano squeal.
The pale swell of Sharon's bottom cheeks jumped and quivered under the force of each impact. She performed arse contortions that a professional belly dancer might have envied. The slim black crop whipped and whipped again across her young backside until Sharon made the walls ring after every cut. She kicked out with her bare legs this way and that, receiving six measured cuts across the backs of them to discourage such conduct. Her knees seemed to give way at this point. Had she merely been bending to touch her toes, Sharon would have collapsed on the floor. How wise I had been to secure her, bending over the table, so that she would have to take what was given her, whether her legs would support her or not.
I do not know if she was sorry for all her previous misconduct but she looked extremely sorry for herself! From its deep blushes and crimson streaking, Sharon's eighteen year old bottom looked as if she had been made to sit all day in a vase de nuit filled with a boiling brew of sharpest thorn twigs.
I stood back and gave her six more for luck, such that in her desperation she pushed herself up from her knees and balanced by her shins on the edge of the chair. Then, with some reluctance, I laid down the implement. I freed her and she burst out into a sobbing, heaving lament. I untied her and allowed her to stand up. Like a little girl who has just had a smacked bottom, she wanted only to be out of her chastiser's presence and safe in her own room.
"Have you had enough, Sharon?" I demanded.
She would not answer me, her head bowed, her face scalding with tears, and her brown hair hanging down.
"No answer, Sharon? What did I tell you about answering me? I assume you want some more then! I can call in the stable boys to put you over that table again and hold you while you're getting it! Would you like that, Sharon?"
She shook her head vigorously but would neither look at me nor speak.
"Have you learnt your lesson, Sharon?"
Still nothing. Before I could repeat the question or warn her again of the penalty for dumb insolence, Sharon snatched up her briefs and jeans. Without pausing to put them on, she uttered a desperate sob, ran from the room, and made the house echo to her weeping and running footsteps on the stairs.
Despite such discourtesy, I did not follow up on my threat. She had been punished enough. Sharon spent an hour in the bathroom before throwing herself painfully onto her bed, and sobbing herself to sleep.
Presently I was alone with Sharon. She stood before me in her singlet and jeans, the veil of brown hair freshly combed and settled on her shoulders, the careless fringe of it on her forehead and the sweep of it framing the firm pale oval of her face. She stood there with arms folded, her expression suggesting that, though she would not resist me, she would do nothing to assist in her own punishment. A girl of eighteen has at least that much pride.
I turned to the cupboard, taking out the slim black riding crop. She stared at it, still unable to comprehend the degree of torment the crop may inflict upon her. At the centre of the room was a heavy oblong table of dark wood.
"Go over and stand facing the table, Sharon," I said quietly.
She turned and walked slowly across, still with her arms folded as if to show her indifference. I promised myself that she would show little indifference or self-possession in half an hour's time!
"Lie forward over the table, Sharon. Bend forward over it."
She did as she was told, still without a word, lying forward along it.
"Give me your hands."
She reached them out in front of her, above her head as she lay still. I slipped a strap around her wrists and drew it tight. Then I ran a length of stout cord around the strap, drew her arms out at full stretch and tied the cord firmly to the nearest table legs. Sharon turned her face aside and shook her dark brown hair into place, her cheek resting on the table.
I pulled the singlet hem free of the waist of her jeans. Now that I had Sharon bending fully over, the rear view of her riding jeans was of two quite plumpy swelling young bottom cheeks with the outline of her panties clearly ridged. I undid the clasp at her waist and eased the denim down, making her step out of her jeans when they had fallen to her ankles. She now lay there displaying briefs of white elasticated cotton.
"Now your knickers, Sharon," I said "You must be properly undressed for this."
I pulled her knickers down and admired the view. Sharon's bottom gained its seductive fullness from the slight pale sheen of adolescent puppy fat. I ran my hand gently over it and gave her a light cheek smack, causing Sharon's soft pale arse flesh to jump and quiver.
"Never had the crop before, Sharon?"
She bit her lip and said nothing.
"Answer when you're spoken to!"
There was a pause and then the answer came almost as a gasp.
"No!"
I gave her bottom another light smack.
"You shall have your first taste of the stable crop then."
Though her face was hidden, her body now betrayed Sharon's panic. Her knees were pressed together and she was trying to compress her rear cleavage. I stood over her, put one arm around her waist, and closely inspected her young backside and the rear opening of her thighs.
"Relax your bottom, Sharon. I must have a good look at you first."
And so I did, admiring the rear aspect of her young sex at the junction of her trembling thighs. She tried to tighten again presently, when I pressed her cheeks hard apart and considered the little vortex before me. I straightened up, gave her another light slap on the bottom and walked across to the desk where the slim black crop was lying. I picked up the crop and a leather belt. The latter went tightly around Sharon's waist, for I intended her to remain very firmly lying over the table.
I cut the air with a crop and the sound of it made her jump with fright, Sharon's bare buttocks tightening instinctively.
I spent a little while taking my aim, touching the cold leather of the crop one way and another across Sharon's bare and flinching rear cheeks. My resolve had begun to harden and I very much determined to make this a long and fruitful session. I raised the long slim crop and brought it down hard with a flick of the wrist, catching Sharon's squirming young backside expertly aslant its cheeks. The room rang with the smack of leather on the soft flesh of Sharon's bottom. Sharon gasped and then her gasp rose to a cry as if the anguish increased for a moment after the impact. The silky twist of her brown hair slithered clear as she tried to twist her face round to implore me. The whip cracked keenly, making her young bottom cheeks quiver again and again.
Sharon bent one knee up quickly and desperately, as if that might ease the lingering smart of the whip, something I was later to see Victoria do. I caught her again with a cut that touched the searing red of the first stripe and Sharon yelled wildly. Her silky hair was spilling in confusion and, when I walked around to the front, I saw her brown eyes filled with tears of dismay. Sharon had never dreamt that she could be hurt like this in response to her conduct. Her legs were squirming and wriggling. The whip smacked low across her bottom cheeks and Sharon uttered a wild and wordless soprano squeal.
The pale swell of Sharon's bottom cheeks jumped and quivered under the force of each impact. She performed arse contortions that a professional belly dancer might have envied. The slim black crop whipped and whipped again across her young backside until Sharon made the walls ring after every cut. She kicked out with her bare legs this way and that, receiving six measured cuts across the backs of them to discourage such conduct. Her knees seemed to give way at this point. Had she merely been bending to touch her toes, Sharon would have collapsed on the floor. How wise I had been to secure her, bending over the table, so that she would have to take what was given her, whether her legs would support her or not.
I do not know if she was sorry for all her previous misconduct but she looked extremely sorry for herself! From its deep blushes and crimson streaking, Sharon's eighteen year old bottom looked as if she had been made to sit all day in a vase de nuit filled with a boiling brew of sharpest thorn twigs.
I stood back and gave her six more for luck, such that in her desperation she pushed herself up from her knees and balanced by her shins on the edge of the chair. Then, with some reluctance, I laid down the implement. I freed her and she burst out into a sobbing, heaving lament. I untied her and allowed her to stand up. Like a little girl who has just had a smacked bottom, she wanted only to be out of her chastiser's presence and safe in her own room.
"Have you had enough, Sharon?" I demanded.
She would not answer me, her head bowed, her face scalding with tears, and her brown hair hanging down.
"No answer, Sharon? What did I tell you about answering me? I assume you want some more then! I can call in the stable boys to put you over that table again and hold you while you're getting it! Would you like that, Sharon?"
She shook her head vigorously but would neither look at me nor speak.
"Have you learnt your lesson, Sharon?"
Still nothing. Before I could repeat the question or warn her again of the penalty for dumb insolence, Sharon snatched up her briefs and jeans. Without pausing to put them on, she uttered a desperate sob, ran from the room, and made the house echo to her weeping and running footsteps on the stairs.
Despite such discourtesy, I did not follow up on my threat. She had been punished enough. Sharon spent an hour in the bathroom before throwing herself painfully onto her bed, and sobbing herself to sleep.
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